


at his side (as if you've always been there)

by plasticlove



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Confessions, First Kiss, M/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Post-Altamid, bones meddles bc he's nosy, brief mention of michael bc i love her even though i've only watched half of s1 of dsc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-04
Updated: 2018-12-04
Packaged: 2019-09-05 21:43:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16819042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plasticlove/pseuds/plasticlove
Summary: “Do you know why I turned the position down?”This again. “Let me guess,” he drawls. “You turned it down cause of Spock.”mccoy gives jim and spock that little extra push they need.





	at his side (as if you've always been there)

With the clamor of the party behind him and two glasses in hand, McCoy approaches Spock. The Vulcan had secluded himself to a corner, perched on one of the couches lined against the windows overlooking the starbase. He has a PADD clutched in his hands, but it's powered off, and his eyes are focused on the window, watching the myriad of beings below scurry around like ants.

“Here.” He brings the glass beside Spock’s head.

Spock didn’t have to look to know it was him. “Thank you, Doctor, but as I am sure you are aware, alcohol has no effect on the Vulcan central nervous system.”

“Suit yourself.” He sets it on the table and collapses on the sofa opposite Spock, cradling his own glass close to his chest as though it were a newborn baby. “You can make sure I don’t drink myself to death.” As he takes a sip, he adds, “I guess there isn’t much fun in it for you if you can’t get drunk.”

“I will endeavor to do so, Doctor.” Then, “But as you are so fond of reminding me, I am half-Human. I have not conducted a proper experiment and as no other Vulcan-Human hybrid exists, there is no preexisting data, but it is possible—”

A devilish grin spreads across his face. “It’s possible for you to get drunk on alcohol? I’d pay to see that.” He knocked back the remains of his glass and sets it besides Spock’s. If he's being honest, he hadn’t had that much to drink, but the realization that he’d had yet another close brush with death—more like twenty—was enough to bring him crawling back to the bottle. But he remembers why he came over here, and he steels his expression. “Have you told Jim yet?”

Spock’s gaze flits across the room to the person in question, eyes softening, before falling to his hands. It would’ve been obvious on anybody, but on Spock, always so stoic and centered, it was almost unnatural. He presses on, knowing it wasn’t entirely his business, but it’d be better for everybody if Spock just fessed up.

“Have you told him you’re leaving Starfleet?”

“I have not.”

“Why not?”

Spock meets his eyes slowly. “I have decided to pursue a different course of action and remain in Starfleet.” His words are slow and careful, as though each one were deliberately chosen and calculated for the most ideal response. On his lap, he intertwines his hands, then separates them, then rests them on his knees, as though he were suddenly made aware that they were there and he had no idea what to do with them.

“Why?” He feels like he was playing with one of Joanna’s toys from when she was a baby, clicking a button and hearing the handful of pre-recorded responses until he lands on the one he was looking for. Sometimes, it was difficult to get a straight answer out of Spock.

Spock’s back straightens, and McCoy can almost imagine the discs of his spine lining up like a row of dominoes falling in reverse. He sets the PADD on the table, his movements slower and less fluid than normal. The metal barely clicks against the hard surface of the table. “Currently, I am not needed on New Vulcan. The colony is doing well, and though I would be able to contribute more than the average citizen, it is not necessary for me to join them at this time. The revitalization of the colony can continue efficiently without me. I have determined that my place, at the moment, is in Starfleet.”

“With Jim,” he finishes. It wasn’t a question, and Spock doesn’t deny it. He merely continues to stare at his hands. It was unusual for Spock, such a stickler for etiquette and manners, to avoid eye contact—a mannerism shared among Humans and Vulcans—as much as he is now.

McCoy leans forward, elbows propped against his knees. Lowering his voice, he says, “You know, Spock, it doesn’t help you to bottle up your emotions like this. I know you’re a Vulcan and all and that’s y’all’s thing, but that can’t be healthy all the time. Especially since you’re part Human.” That earns him a firm glare, as firm as Spock was willing to show. It was a start. “You’re just gonna keep quiet, aren’t you?”

“There is no reason in confirming what you already know, Doctor.” He bites back a sharp retort. Whoever says Spock isn’t emotional clearly has never met the man—he somehow knows how to press every one of McCoy’s buttons, and he clearly enjoys doing it. At least, most of the time—at the moment, he looks like he’d sacrifice his first born to get McCoy to leave.

“Then why don’t you tell him? You’re staying in Starfleet for Jim; he deserves to know this. You obviously… feel strongly about him.” He only earns another, firmer glare from Spock.

“Vulcans do not discuss their… feelings.” He utters the word as though it were poison to his lips. “It is not in our nature.” After a beat, he adds, “There is no point in discussing it with Jim as the sentiment is not returned.”

He doesn’t know what to say. He knows for a fact that Jim was practically head over heels for his first officer—just during this short conversation, he’s caught Jim steal glances in their direction about fifty times, each time his gaze lingering on Spock. And if he’d had a credit for each time Jim has wasted away his bourbon just to complain about Spock and his conflicted feelings for him, and how much he loves his pretty eyes or wants to—eugh—hold his hand, well, he’d be a much richer man.

But it wasn’t his place to tell Spock. He could nudge the two in the right direction, sure, but in the end, it was up to them. It wasn’t like he couldn’t see them together. They were his friends, after all, and he could tell there was something between them—him and half the crew—but their issues were their issues, and he doesn't want to be caught playing matchmaker. That was usually Sulu and Chekov’s jobs.

“Humans discuss their feelings all the time. Hell, we’d go insane if we didn’t.” For a moment, he hesitates, unsure if he should continue with his train of thought. “And you _are_ half-Human, Spock. Even if Vulcans try suppressing their inner shit, you must want—no, need to talk about it.”

Spock’s words are biting. “While I do possess Human DNA, I was raised—”

“That’s hogwash, and you know it. Raised on Vulcan, whatever. You have a Human mother, a Human sister, and you’re smart enough to know that genetics are just as important as environment.” At Spock’s startled glance, he says, “Michael called the hospital to make sure you were okay. You were off visiting Jim, so I took the call.” He leans back, raking a hand through his hair. It needed a trim, he thought absentmindedly. Spending every waking moment on a starship practically babysitting your best friend and his crush detracted from more important issues like haircuts. “I’m not as well-versed in Vulcan psych as M’Benga, but I am still a certified psychologist, and… I’m your friend, Spock.” If he could, he’d lay a reassuring hand on Spock’s knee, but he’s not sure how well that would be received by a touch telepath. Instead, he offers a small smile and a nod. “You’d probably roll over in your grave sooner than you’d talk to somebody about this, but if you need an ear, you know where to find me. Or better yet, just talk to Jim himself. You might be surprised.” Gesturing to the untouched glass on the table, he adds, “Are you sure you aren’t gonna drink that? We don’t come across Romulan ale all that often.”

“To employ a human colloquialism, ‘be my guest.’”

* * *

Spock leaves not long after their conversation ended, citing unfinished paperwork and lost projects from the _Enterprise_ he wanted to recover. Before the door had even swung shut behind him, Jim pounces like a lion in wait, words tumbling out of his mouth so fast McCoy could barely tell one from the other in his half-drunken state.

“Kid, slow down. What’s going on?”

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

Jim snorts, an arm falling around his shoulder. “Don’t play coy, Bones. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

The alcohol was heavy on Jim’s breath, but he could have just been smelling his own. “You’re drunk.”

“I had like half a drink. Come _on_.”

He extricates himself from Jim’s grasp, heading towards the door. Jim follows. “Why should I tell you?”

“I think I should be privy to a conversation between my CMO and First Officer, both of whom are my best friends, don’t you think? Wait, or is it who?”

He shrugs. The door isn’t pneumatic like most and it clips his shoulder as it falls shut, but he ignores the sharp burst of pain and focuses his attention instead on trying to shake Jim off of him. “Hell if I know. Don’t get why there should be two words with practically the same meaning. Hey, you wanna hit the city tonight for a late birthday celebration? Check out the site where they’re building the new ship. I know you’re probably dying to get up there and make sure they don’t mess up your baby.”

“Don’t change the subject.”

McCoy sighs, dragging a hand across his weary face. “Jim, look. My conversation with Spock was private. Just like how I won’t tell him you tried to pry the details outta me, I won’t tell you what I talked about with him.”

For a moment, he thinks Jim has given up. They had reached their temporary quarters by now, the grandest hotel available on Yorktown, generously covered by Starfleet, and they’d already made their way into the turbolift when Jim blurts, “I was offered the Vice Admiral position here. At Yorktown.”

A smile breaks out on McCoy’s face and he claps a hand on Jim’s shoulder. “Congratulations. You’ve earned it.”

“I turned it down,” Jim interjects quickly before McCoy could continue his congratulations. He suppresses the urge to raise an eyebrow, a consequence of spending too much time around Spock.

“Somehow, that doesn’t surprise me.”

Jim continues as though he hadn’t even spoken. “I know I applied for it, and I really did want it. At the time, I was just… bored with being a captain. Sometimes it’s just—there’s only so much out there. Sure, we have the first contacts and the new planets, but so much of it is just hanging around in an empty bubble of space until I almost get everyone killed again.”

The semi-permanent frown lines in his forehead soften, and he sighs. The hand on Jim’s shoulder gently squeezes, but he shrugs it off. “Jim, you know that’s not true.”

He looks like he wants to shake his head and deny it, but he simply says, “I know. I just felt like getting the position was my one chance to break free from my dad’s shadow. I wouldn’t be George Kirk’s son anymore. I would be Jim Kirk.”

The turbolift arrives at their floor and the doors slide open with a quiet hiss. Neither of them make any attempt to move. “You’re past that. The whole Federation knows your name; you’re a hero. You’ve long surpassed your dad’s legacy.”

Jim shrugs off the compliment, as he always does. His shoulders tighten in the usual way—McCoy knows he hates receiving compliments, especially the ones along the lines of _you’re a hero_ and especially _you really are your dad’s son_ , but once in a while, he wanted to let Jim know how appreciated he was.

“Do you know why I turned the position down?”

This again. “Let me guess,” he drawls. “You turned it down cause of Spock.”

The way Jim looked at him, you would’ve thought McCoy had just smacked him upside the head.

“Don’t give me that. You know I know how you feel about him.”

“I mean—not that.” Jim shakes his head as he leaves the turbolift, McCoy not far behind. “I mean, initially I took it because all this made me realize I was trying to get that position to outgrow my dad.”

“Jim—” McCoy starts, and Jim holds up his hand.

“Yeah, I know. You just said I’m past it, and I know it’s irrational, but whatever. This isn’t a therapy session.” They stop outside Jim’s room, McCoy’s a few doors down the hall. “It’s just that this time, after losing the _Enterprise_ and nearly the entire crew along with her, I finally realized that I didn’t want to leave them. It’s not only the adventure and exploration, but it’s like my family. If it meant everybody getting home safely, I would have died on Altamid to make sure that happened. And…”

“Spock?”

He sighs, a short puff of air from his lips. “Spock.” He seems reluctant to speak, instead choosing to fiddle with the print scanner besides the door. Finally, the words come, though it was less willing and more as though they had to be dragged out of his mouth syllable by syllable. “I thought I was going to die then.” McCoy knows exactly what he was talking about, but Jim specifies anyway. “As I got caught in the pull, I had that little life-flashes-before-your-eyes moment. It’s happened to me before, but it was different this time.”

“How’s that?”

Jim presses his thumb against the scanner and it blips its affirmation at him before unlocking the door. Jim beckons him in.

“This time kind of centered me, if that makes sense.” Without even bothering to take off his jacket or shoes, he falls backwards onto the bed, arm slung over his forehead like a hopeless lovestruck teenager. “I mean, first time I almost died, I was like twelve. And then before this most recent time, I had every intention to leave the _Enterprise_. My family. Spock.” He rolls over and buries his face in one of the pillows, before quickly drawing back and sneezing. “These aren’t hypoallergenic.”

“Just replicate some new ones.”

He slides off the bed and heads over to the small personal replicator, tapping away at the screen. Speaking to the wall, he continues. “This time, I just—I realized that I don’t want to have spent the last years of my life at some desk telling other young captains to follow the Prime Directive, you know, away from everything and everyone I care about. And this time when I nearly died, the last thing I thought about was Spock—and then, like some angel from heaven, he was there to save me.”

McCoy snorts. The replicator beeps to life, humming away as it fabricates the necessary elements to create the hypoallergenic sheets that Jim needed. In an attempt to help, he takes apart the current bed, dumping the offending sheets into the laundry chute.

“I mean, I’m staying for lots of reasons. Not _just_ Spock. You’re one of them.”

“I’m touched.” McCoy’s words drip with sarcasm, but they know both know the sentiment is there. It wasn’t quite to the extent of a Vulcan, but they both knew McCoy doesn't handle compassion that well, and Jim had no trouble working around that.

He chuckles quietly, tossing the newly replicated sheets on the bed as he waits for the rest of the materials to replicate. “If I could choose where I died—don’t give me that look, I know you revived me once, but I’m not immortal—I’d want it to be on my ship. And I don’t want to live the rest of my life without Spock. I don’t even need anything to happen, because I know it won’t. I’m fine just being friends. I just… I feel like we’re meant to be together, in one way or another.” Groaning, he says, “I sound so stupid.”

The last pillowcase shimmers into being. Jim brings it over to the bed, where McCoy has already begun to stretch the fitted sheet over the mattress. “Why don’t you tell him that?”

“Tell him that I’m stupid? I think he already knows that.”

“No, you idiot. Tell him how you feel.”

Jim rolls his eyes and laughs, alleviating some of the heavy air around them. “Spock? That’d send him running off faster than—okay, I can’t think of some catchy Southern metaphor, but you know what I mean. That’d ruin our relationship. He’d ask for a transfer and he’d be gone and I might as well go back to Commodore Paris and beg for the Vice Admiral position while I still can.”

McCoy wants to kick himself. Instead he shrugs. “You never know. What if he feels the same way?”

“He’s with Uhura.”

He frowns. “Spock didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“They broke up. I couldn’t really get any of the details outta Spock, and I’m not gonna risk asking Uhura, but from what I got, one of the reasons was she didn’t want kids.”

“Spock wanted _kids_ with her?” Jim’s expression falls and his voice was quiet. Quickly, he tries to recover before Jim’s thoughts get away from him.

“Wait, no, don’t get your panties in a twist.” He was caught between keeping Spock’s privacy and stopping Jim’s train of thought before it got away from him. Jim is probably less inclined to sink into a destructive spiral like he did when Gary broke up with him, but he knows if he didn’t set him straight it’d eat away at him from the inside. “Okay, I’ll tell you one thing. It’s basically the entire thing, but if you want all the details, you better go to Spock yourself.” Maybe it's the alcohol loosening his self-control, maybe he's just fed up with Jim and Spock's endless dance around each other, but he could give a shit about Spock's privacy now.

“You’re making me nervous.”

He made a noise that was somewhere between a scoff and a snort. “Must be bad then, to make someone who drive a car off a cliff nervous.” Jim glares at him from where he’s stuffing one of the pillows into its case. “Spock was planning to leave. Starfleet. And don’t you go and forget that you were the one who went behind his back and asked for a promotion just ‘cause you were bored.” Jim shoots him a withering look but kept quiet. “Good. Now go and talk to him.”

“I still don’t know, what if—”

“Jim, I don’t ask much. But please, this isn’t high school, just suck it up and tell him how you feel. Ask him to the prom, whatever.”

“Fine. Fine! I’ll go talk to him. But what if he doesn’t—”

“ _Jim._ Just go.”

With a sigh, he throws the pillow down onto the bed.

* * *

Reluctantly, he takes Bones’s advice. They leave his room together, McCoy to his and Jim past Spock’s room and straight to the turbolift. He doesn’t know exactly where Spock was, but his instinct leads him to the site where the _Enterprise_ was being built. It takes him longer than he would’ve liked to get in, since his nerves had him slipping over his access code again and again. The fourth attempt is finally a success and the turbolift slides open to bring him up.

A weight lifts from his shoulder when those doors open at the top. At the edge of the platform was Spock, hands laced behind his back. Instead of the civilian clothes he wore at the party, he’s changed, donning traditional Vulcan robes. The fabric falls like liquid silk over his shoulders, catching the light from the droids flitting across the work site. Spock barely wears traditional Vulcan attire even during shore leave. With Vulcan gone, the price of the fabric had been driven up by its rarity, not to mention the method to create it was only known among a select few at this point. Breath caught in his throat, Jim steps out of the turbolift, watching the subtle drop in Spock’s shoulders at the sound of his footsteps.

“Bones told me you were planning to leave.” Spock shows no acknowledgement that he’s heard him except that he unlaces his hands and brings them to rest on the railing before him. He steps closer. “Is that what you wanted to tell me that day, in the turbolift? You know, before everything happened.”

A pregnant pause fills the air between them, and Jim inches closer until the sound of Spock breathing in punctuates the silence, and he stops midstep. “I apologize for not informing you sooner; however, my decision has changed. I have decided to stay in Starfleet and serve under you.”

He chuckles, so soft that he could hardly hear himself. “About that. You know what I was gonna tell you that day? I was planning on leaving too.” At this, Spock glances up sharply, his knuckles paling around the handrail. Jim closes the remaining distance quickly, wanting to console his apparent distress. His hands come up to grip Spock’s shoulders before hesitating and dropping back to his side. “I’m not, not anymore.” Tentative, he meets Spock’s eyes before glancing down. “I asked for a promotion and they gave it to me. But I turned it down. I couldn’t leave.”

Spock turns to face Jim fully, but his eyes are distant, lost in thought. “Ambassador Spock has died.”

Something deep in the pit of his stomach grips him and a cold flash ripples through his body. “Spock, I…”

“Death is an inevitable part of life. But after Ambassador Spock’s passing, I felt it necessary more than ever to leave Starfleet and help the colony.”

“By having a bunch of mini Spocks?” He says it jokingly, smile light, but the knot in his stomach just worsens.

The corner of Spock’s lip twitches. “If that is how you wish to put it. But I have come to realize that that is not my place.”

“So where is that?” It spills out of mouth before he could even think.

Spock glances up to meet Jim’s gaze, sending his heart hammering away. For a moment, they’re caught in each other’s eyes, and Jim has never felt more at home than in that instance. The reverie is broken when Spock steps toward him, but Jim can’t bring himself to look away from his eyes, so he’s surprised when he feels warmth against the back of his hand and it’s Spock’s cradling his. Hesitant, he turns his hand over, and Spock laces their fingers together.

“Spock,” he murmurs, the sound barely above a whisper..

“Jim.” The sound of his name on Spock’s lips, so perfect, has his breath frozen in his throat, but he pulls away regardless.

“Don’t stay in Starfleet just for me.” Spock’s face is blank, but in his eyes, Jim could see it was as though he has just brought his whole world crashing down. Again. “You deserve better.”

Spock blinks, once, twice, three times before speaking, head tilted in that little way he does when he’s confused that Jim loves so much. “Jim, my…” Uncharacteristically, he cuts himself off. “You underestimate yourself.”

“I just got half our crew killed and our—our ship destroyed.” He gestures to the skeleton of the new ship before them, lit up by the sparks of the welding bots skitting around on its surface. “You still want to serve under me? I’m only captain because I was in the right place at the right time. I barely know what I’m doing, Spock. Don’t be stuck under me and don’t let me hold you back. Go serve with a better captain, or go to New Vulcan. You know, you deserve your own ship. The _Enterprise_ should’ve been yours anyway. I’ll write you a stunning letter of rec, not that you need it.”

“You misinterpret my reasons for staying.” One of his hands come to brush Jim’s cheek, the other cradling his face. He could hardly breathe now. “If you wish that I leave, I will, but only if I am permitted to follow you wherever you go. You are the most worthy captain in Statfleet, and it is an honor to be the one you trust. Jim, you are… _t’hy’la, ashayam_ . My place is by you. Be that on the _Enterprise_ , or on Earth, or—”

Spock’s a few centimeters taller than him, so Jim has to throw his arms around his neck so he can tug him down those last few inches and bring their lips together. At first, Spock is frozen, and he’s worried that he made a dire mistake. He’s about to back away and apologize profusely before Spock slowly melts in his grip, tucking his arms around Jim’s waist and pulling him close. Their bodies fit together as though they were matching puzzle pieces, made perfectly to fit together and stay that way. Jim can’t help but think about what an idiot he was, to think that he could ever leave this, leave _Spock—_

Spock pulls back just enough to speak, his warm breath dusting over Jim’s nose and mouth. His lips brush against his as he speaks. “You are not an idiot, _ashayam.”_

He laughs, a blush painting his cheeks pink. “I forgot about that touch telepathy thing.” He was about to tilt forward again before he stops, pulling back another inch. Spock’s iron grip prevents him from stepping away completely. “Wait, I’ve never made you uncomfortable, have I? I know I’m really touchy, so—”

“While skin-to-skin contact is normally unwelcome by Vulcans,” Spock starts, tugging him closer and placing a delicate kiss at the base of his jaw, “I would excuse it if it were initiated by you. Under typical circumstances, I would shield to prevent emotional and mental transference.”

Jim’s fingers tangle in Spock’s hair as he works his way down his neck. “And what about just now?”

“I was unable to properly shield my mind as you were…” His breath hitches as Spock’s teeth nip at the delicate skin of his neck, and he bites his lip to stifle a gasp. “Distracting.”

“Distracting, huh?” While Spock is working his neck, he traces a finger up his earlobe to the defined point of his ear, rubbing it between his index and thumb. Apparently, he’s done something right, because Spock stops and almost _purrs._

He straightens, flushed green and eyes narrowed. Jim sneaks another kiss, which quickly dissolves into something more. Before it could go too far, he mumbled against Spock’s lips, “What do you say we head back to my room? I just got new sheets.” He’s teasing, fully expecting Spock to turn him down, so his response surprises him.

“I would be highly amenable to that, but we cannot further our relationship until it is disclosed to Starfleet.” Jim groans, sagging in his arms but a smile on his face nonetheless. “That would require informing the Chief Medical Officer, who, as I am certain you are aware, is Doctor McCoy.”

He smiles, looping his arms around Spock again so he can bring him closer. “Somehow, I think he already knows.”

**Author's Note:**

> omg ok this is the first fic i have published in YEARS i actually wrote this fic not long after beyond came out but it's being published now so. yeah. anyway thanks for reading!! 
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